


Neverland(Forever Flying)

by itsevanffs



Series: Limerence [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Child Harry, Fae & Fairies, Fluff, Good Tom Riddle, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Neverland (Peter Pan), Tom is a Sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsevanffs/pseuds/itsevanffs
Summary: Tom Riddle steals children away from abusive households and brings them to Neverland. One night, he steals Harry Potter out of a cupboard.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: Limerence [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1476734
Comments: 45
Kudos: 502
Collections: Corona Challenge





	Neverland(Forever Flying)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaperWorlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperWorlds/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [PaperWorlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperWorlds/pseuds/PaperWorlds) in the [CoronaChallenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CoronaChallenge) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Tom Riddle steals children away from abusive households and brings them to Neverland (renamed Hogwarts if you so desire). One night, he steals Harry Potter out of a cupboard.
> 
> Edit: removed the empty paragraphs.

Harry’s sobbing quietly when, in the middle of the night, the door of his cupboard opens.

A boy stands there, not one he recognises. His legs are long, clad in straight, pressed black trousers, tawny suspenders holding them up over a comfortable looking cream shirt. Harry lifts his head further up, curious, and green eyes dotted with tears meet wide, blood-red ones and a smile a bit too large for the boy’s face.

The boy tilts his head, his smile staying constant, and steps back, beckoning Harry out. Harry’s just clothed in Cousin’s oversized shirt, but he’s used to the cold, so he obeys, the shirt falling over his knees as he crawls out and stands on shaky legs.

The smile’s still there, but the boy’s finger is pressed to it in a command of silence, his hand held out for Harry to take. Harry nods, knowing what would happen if Uncle or Aunt or Cousin heard them, and lays his hand in the other boy’s.

The boy’s smile widened slightly, impossibly, and with his other hand the boy reaches into his pocket and takes a fistful of golden powder out of it, holding it above Harry’s head. The powder feels like butterfly wings against his skin, and Harry looks down, his tattered shirt repairing itself and turning into a lovely nightgown, his skin clearing and old scars fading into the smooth ivory. The gold sticks, though, covering him in a smooth film of glitter, and Harry feels himself turning weightless.

The boy’s smile soothes a little and he kicks off the ground, rising in a jump and pulling Harry with him. To Harry’s surprise, they just keep rising, up and up, slipping through the open window and the rolling curtains, and up, into the starry night sky.

When their street is small, a line of light below them, and Harry can see all of London below them, the boy speaks.

“I’m Tom,” the boy says, “What’s your name?”

“Harry,” Harry said, “But Uncle and Aunt and Cousin call me Freak, or Boy.”

Tom’s eyes lose their wideness, his expression smoothing over into a more calm look. It’s soothing, and as they soar above the clouds, Harry relaxes, letting his hand trail along the fluff and stirring it up.

“That’s not very nice,” Tom says, red eyes looking at him, intense despite his relaxed expression. “Is it, Harry?”

Harry shrugs, pulling his free hand back in. “They’ve always called me that.”

Tom smiles at him, and Harry has the courage to smile back, his cheeks painting red in a flush.

“What are you, Tom?” Harry asks, tilting his head. “How come we can fly?”

“I’m the king of Neverland, Harry,” Tom says. “Lost boys can do anything, if we believe we can.”

Harry nods, and looks around, noticing, ahead, the brightest star of them all. They’re flying towards it, Tom’s red eyes flicking between the star and Harry. 

After several hours they start to descend, and Harry is so tired his eyes slip closed. Tom pulls him closer, into his arms, and Harry falls into a deep sleep, resting peacefully for the first time in many years.

The sun has risen over the treetops of the Winter Woods when Tom’s feet finally skim the crowns of the pines, and he lands on a sturdy-looking branch, holding Harry close to his chest like a babe. Tom smiles, red eyes set upon the boy’s face. The king steps off the branch, golden stairsteps forming out of the same gold powder under his feet, assisting his careful descent.

Tom had been bringing children to his realm for forty years now, but he has a feeling none would be quite as special as this one, with his eyes so green. They’re more vivid than the moss after spring showers. He was thin, but after spending enough time in his realm, that would rectify itself.

Tom thinks back to his past, his foolish ambitions of immortality, of ultimate power, of being the strongest to exist. Now he knows. What is immortality when you have nothing to spend it on? Now he has a kingdom of his own; a castle, more grand than Hogwarts, more alive; and the ultimate strength.

The fae taught him that weakness is preying on the lost. He was lured, and trapped, and he destroyed them for it. He learned then that strength lay not in holding power over, but offering power to. So he rescued children who suffered under neglect and abuse, delivered them from their prisons and into his arms, offered them a home, a world where everything was possible and love and care were plenty.

His castle looms up from the trees, glorious and marble, crystal white, covered by the same snow that cushioned the forest floor. When he approached, the guards bowed deeply, arms swinging out in a grandiose gesture as the dark oak gate swung open, allowing them access.

“My Lord,” Severus greeted him with a smile, clad in his usual white robes, an emerald coloured velvet cape tossed over his shoulders, fastened by a silver clasp. “Has everything gone well?”

Tom nods, red eyes meeting onyx ones. “They should find the puppet soon, and assume he died of his wounds. Nothing will be suspected. The wards will misdirect any attempted tracking devices.”

Severus frowns. “He’s magical, then?”

“Yes,” Tom says, looking down at the precious child in his arms. “Very important, too, if the wards were to be believed. I broke them upon my entry. I have a feeling someone very familiar had something to do with it.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Severus mutters, looking over Harry. “He’s thin. You healed him?”

“I did,” Tom admits, and tightens his grip when the boy snuggles closer into his arms.

“You do it better than me,” Severus says, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to it, then? The usual rooms are ready, as always.”

“I’ll keep him closer, I think,” Tom says. “Just because Dumbledore might have had a hand in his situation. I’ll have to help him realise he doesn’t need to be careful with what he says or does, here.”

Severus dips his head. “Of course, my Lord.”

Tom lets him be and continues on, into his wing. He opens the door to the room next to his own, and lays Harry on the pristine sheets, lifting a hand to dim the lights. The curtains draw, softening the incoming sunlight. Harry’s hair flows out from under him like a halo of raven feathers, and the boy’s hand reaches up to cling to Tom’s as he moves away.

Tom smiles and softly loosens Harry’s hand, placing it on the sheets carefully. He moves away, out of the room and down the hall to his study, where his globe stands, showing children in need. He’ll need to send out his Dreamers while he’s indisposed with getting Harry to accustom himself with this world. He can’t risk Harry waking up alone while he’s out rescuing another poor child.

So he sits, and waits, for Harry to awake.

Years later, when Harry turns seventeen, knowing the castles of the girls who wanted to be knights and the underwater caves of the boys who wanted to be mermaids like the back of his hand, Tom takes him by the hand, and leads him from the castle, through the dark oak gate, dressed in his beautiful robes, matching to Tom’s, back through the forest through which they first arrived. They end up in the clearing Harry loves so much, daisies sprinkled over dark green grass, fairy lights fluttering above their heads like millions of floating candles.

There, Tom drops down on one knee, and, holding out his hand for Harry to take like he had done all those years ago, and, looking up at him, with wide, blood-red eyes and a smile a bit too wide for his face, he asks,

“My dear Harry, will you stay with me forever?”

And Harry smiles back, cheeks flushed red like their first flight together, and he answers, “Of course I will, my Tom.”


End file.
